Carl Sandburg

Ice Handler

I KNOW an ice handler who wears a flannel shirt with
    pearl buttons the size of a dollar,
And he lugs a hundred—pound hunk into a saloon ice—
    box, helps himself to cold ham and rye bread,
Tells the bartender it’s hotter than yesterday and will be
    hotter yet to-morrow, by Jesus,
And is on his way with his head in the air and a hard
    pair of fists.
He spends a dollar or so every Saturday night on a two
    hundred pound woman who washes dishes in the
    Hotel Morrison.
He remembers when the union was organized he broke
    the noses of two scabs and loosened the nuts so the
    wheels came off six different wagons one morning,
    and he came around and watched the ice melt in the
    street.
All he was sorry for was one of the scabs bit him on the
    knuckles of the right hand so they bled when he
    came around to the saloon to tell the boys about it.
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